


Three Bodies In Orbit

by rainglazed



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Asexual Relationship, F/M, M/M, Multi, OT3, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Polyamory, Pregnancy, Trans!Anakin, accidental deification, are you hitting on Obi-wan...for me???
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 11:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14769020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainglazed/pseuds/rainglazed
Summary: A collection of ficlets and drabbles I've written for the obianidala suggestion blog, now posted to AO3 for easier viewing.Chapter 1: Deuces, Aces (asexual ot3 go on vacation)Chapter 2: All Those Minor Saints and Angels  (a reluctant brush with godhood)Chapter 3: Make Short the Miles Between (Padme and Obi-wan, during the war)Chapter 4: Into Our Arms Again (reincarnation, modern au)Chapter 5: Unorthodox Advances (or Padme and Anakin Hit on Obi-wan, For Each Other)





	1. Deuces, Aces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Imagine that Anakin and Obi-wan and Padme are all asexual, and they all know that (about themselves and the others) before they enter into a relationship. Padme only gets pregnant because the Force decides that it wants grandbabies.

“Sooo, who launched the missile?”  

The three of them looked over at the sly smile on the delegate’s face.  He faltered at their blank incomprehension. “Um. Won the great race? Put the bun in the metaphorical oven.”  At their continued confusion he visibly wilted. “Oh dear, unless mammalian humanoids don’t work quite like that, in which case, my deepest apologies.”  

The troopers that accompanied the trio were nothing if not helpful.  “We launch a great deal of aerial weaponry and excel at contests of speed, though I can’t say many in the GAR are very good at baking,” Rex interjected.  He jerked a thumb over at the trooper to his left. “Fives can make a mean quiche if he can get his hands on the ingredients though.” 

“Ah…”  The delegate was floundering in earnest now.  

Understanding dawned.  “Oh,” Padme said, settling a hand over her gently swelling abdomen.  “You mean my pregnancy?” 

The delegate brightened.  “Yes! Congratulations, to you and, um, your partner?”  His eyes flitted between Anakin and Obi-wan, decorum obviously at war with curiosity.  “I would give you the traditional greeting, only, um, I’m not quite sure…” 

“It’s quite all right, ambassador,” Padme said with grace.  She looks over behind her and gives a cheeky grin. Anakin beams back while Obi-wan only crosses his arms in amusement.  “They are both my partners.” 

“Oh!  Well excuse my lapse, then, if you’d allow me to show you to your rooms-”  

After the doors to their private apartment had closed behind him Anakin finally burst into laughter.  “The look on your face,” he gasped, collapsing onto the plush carpet. Obi-wan sniffed as he began a circuit of the room.  

“Launched the missile,” he muttered in disbelief, peering at their security measures.  

“Buns...in ovens…” Anakin chortled.   

Padme kept a straight face for a few beats longer.  “So which of you gentlemen won the great race,” she said dryly, and that was enough to send all three of them off again.  

“The only race...I’m winning,” Anakin wheezed, “is the race to the fresher.”  

“Too late, I think Obi-wan’s beaten you there.”  

“Correct,” a voice echoed from the spacious fresher door, the sound of water being drawn already ringing through the apartment.  “However, I’m generous enough to share with my fellow missile launcher if he decides to behave himself.” 

Anakin helped her off the couch and accompanied her to the fresher doorway.  “I always behave,” he protested. 

“Negative, you and Padme both splash and if you two get soap in my eyes again I am divorcing both of you.”  

“Divorced.  During our own honeymoon,” Padme said dryly.  “Anakin why did we marry this cruel, cruel man.”  

Anakin paused thoughtfully from where he was stripping out of his clothes.  “He’s good at folding sheet corners on the bed? I don’t know.” He looked over at where their third was carefully measuring out the bubble bath.  “Hey Obi-wan what are your redeeming qualities?” 

The splash followed by an indignant yelp was all the answer they needed.  

Elsewhere on the lavish vacation planet, the clones fielded questions of their own.  

“So who is the father?” the hotel manager asked, leaning over the ocean side bar top.  Rex shrugged and threw back another piña colada . 

“The Force,” he said, deadpan.  

The manager looked at the other troopers in helpless askance.  

“They both are,” Echo explained seriously  

“Or neither, really,” Waxer added.  

Fives tapped his nose.  “Jedi magic your mortal mind can’t comprehend,” he said ominously.    

And that was the end of that.  


	2. All Those Minor Saints and Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Padme, Anakin, and Obi-wan sometimes get mistaken for gods while travelling across the galaxy.

The monk peered over the database thoughtfully.  “Tooth cleaner is still free.  So is skin problems during the third semi-lunar month, and prevention of split ends.”  He tutted.  “Surprised that one isn’t taken by now, we’ve had several Wookies in here for ages.”

Obi-wan shuffled awkwardly.  “Do we  _really_ need to be deified,” he asked plaintively.  

The memorial hall they were in was enormous, filled with parishioners and beings of the cloth in all shapes and sizes.  Above them the tessellated ceiling reflected light from artfully placed candles, lighting up the space and the numerous wings and alcoves branching off of it with a peaceful glow.  

And covering the walls were the names of the planet’s many patron guardians.  

Their guide peered up at him.  “You don’t  _need_ to do anything,” he admonished.  “However, as ones who have rendered our planet a great service, it would be a grave slight if we failed to enshrine your names in our halls.”  

“That’s…really not necessary,” Anakin said, biting his lip against the smile that threatened to break out across his face.  “Don’t get us wrong, we’re honored, but-”  

“Wouldn’t there be a problem with two of them already belonging to another religious order?” Padme interjected.  Anakin and Obi-wan looked surprised, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to them.   _Honestly_ , her boys.  

“It wouldn’t be a problem at all, Senator,” the monk said smoothly.  “We are an equal opportunity deifier, with guardians from all faiths and followings.  You would not even be the first Jedi to be memorialized here.”  

Anakin kind of looked like he wanted to ask, only to have Obi-wan elbow him in the side when he opened his mouth.  “Your kindness is too much, truly, but I really must protest,” the older man said firmly.    

The monk’s brow beetled into something that hinted exasperation.  “It would also be a great boon to our  _parishioners_ , Master Kenobi, to have such well regarded names here.  In fact, our elders think it might even increase the currently stagnant flow of pilgrims to our planet, which was suffering under the economic difficulties you’ve so recently,  _generously_ helped us with.”  

Obi-wan seemed to process this statement, opened his mouth.  Closed it again.  “Ah.”  

“Indeed,” the monk said dryly.  “Now please, do pick a cause to patronize.”  

Padme peered over the holoscreen where the catalog of unclaimed causes were listed.  “What about this category?”  

“Failings of Narrative Construction?  Ah, a wise choice if I ever saw one Senator…”  

:::

“Guardian Padme Amidala, patron of forgotten women in fiction.”  

Anakin flipped the glossy document projector up into the air.  “At least it’s better than mine,” he offered.  

Padme looked up from her paperwork.  “You can’t even say anything, you let Obi-wan choose yours for you.”  

“True.”  Anakin stopped playing around with the projector, holding it up and turning it on to inspect the words outlined in glowing light.   _Guardian Anakin Skywalker, patron of well intended collateral destruction._

“Honestly Anakin, I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” Obi-wan said as he entered the room.  “I think it’s very fitting.”

“Haha, very funny master mine.  How do you like the one I chose for you, huh?”  

Obi-wan sighed, sitting next to where Anakin was sprawled in the ship’s narrow viewing bench.  “I think you have a morbid sense of humor.”  In his palm he cradled his own personalized memorialization.   _Guardian Obi-wan Kenobi, patron of lost limbs and emergency amputation._

“I don’t suppose either of you sense a vague sense of cosmic irony, do you?” he inquired absently.  Anakin and Padme looked over at each other.  

“Um.”  

“Or as if the something in the galaxy at large was laughing at you, in a general sense.”  

“Not.  Not really?”  The two of them went over and dragged their third from his morose musings.  “I think that might be enough for one day, old man,” Anakin said gently.  “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”  

“We can all use some rest after that last mission,” Padme added when it looked like he might argue.  “The three of us can sleep on the trip back to Coruscant.”  

And so they did, dreaming peaceful dreams as the stars streaked by outside in a kinder galaxy than they might have known.


	3. Make Short the Miles Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: It’s rare for all three of them to be able to get together, so when only two of them are together, they make sure to share and describe, with the third, all the fluffy comforting bonding activities they did. Think “dirty talk”, but without the smut.

All her attendants and aides have left for the day when the Jedi master comes.  For that if nothing else Padme is grateful, even as weariness hounds her, the buzzing of all that is yet undone and all she must do rattling around in the back of her skull and pressing down upon her shoulders.  

Obi-wan’s robes are scorched.  They stare at each other across the apartment.  

“General Kenobi,” she says warily.  

He cocks his head, reaching out for something she cannot see.  “Padme,” he replies. 

No bugs.  Her posture sags with relief, and when she opens her arms Obi-wan falls into them wordlessly.  

There’s no heat in their embrace or the exhausted kiss they give each other before practically falling onto the couch - her comfy one, not the brocade monstrosity in the formal receiving room.  His head rests on her shoulder as she holds him, the smell of char and ozone filling her nose and mingling with the scent of ink, recycled air, and day old perfume. 

“How is he?” she finally asks.  

Obi-wan’s voice is muffled by the soft fibers of her house robe.  “Tired,” he says honestly. “Angry. Brilliant, as always, despite everything.”  Quietly, after a moment, “Sorry that he can’t make it back here with me.” 

_ I’m sorry too _ , he doesn’t say.  Padme smoothes back his hair from his face, frowns at a smudge across his forehead, licks her thumb and tries to rub it away.  Obi-wan bats it away with a snort. “Not you too,” he grumbles, startling a laugh out of her. 

“I picked it up from him!”  

Obi-wan gives her a wry look.  “Really. Because he says the same about you.”  He shakes his head, mutters something suspiciously like “...deserve each other.”  

The thought of it - Ani leaning down over their third, fussing over him like a mother nexu - makes her dissolve into hysteric giggles which may or may not be born from lack of sleep.  “If I taught him anything about personal grooming it’s a boon to all three of us,” she finally retorts, though there’s no sting in it. “You’ve been a terrible influence.” 

“I beg pardon?”  

“Don’t act like you’ve forgotten that haircut, Obi-wan.”  

“It was a perfectly acceptable styling choice!”  

They lapse into silence, disturbed only by the humming of the temperature generator.  “Tell me about him,” she finally says. “Just- anything, anything at all.”

He hums for a moment, breath tickling her collarbone.  “His hair is longer now - he uses the hair tie he stole from you to pull it back.  Sometimes when I comb it out for him he’ll fall asleep with his head in my lap.” 

“Is it the blue hair tie, with little golden bells on it?”  

“Yes, that one - he’s very fond of it, probably trying to figure out where to buy more of them for your nameday, knowing him.”  

She chuckles.  “He’s always been so odd about taking things and then trying to figure out how to replace them.  Did I ever tell you about the time I found him puzzling over our bed spread, because he had stolen your blanket and accidentally destroyed it with engine grease.”  

Obi-wan sat up.  “Is  _ that  _ where my blanket went?” he sputtered.  

“Um.”  

“Please don’t tell me the new ones that mysteriously appeared in my room was yours.”  

“It...may have been a spare?”  

“ _ Anakin _ ,” he groaned, as if the man in question could hear his exasperation from the other side of the galaxy.  

_ Do not laugh, Amidala _ , she told herself severely,  _ do  _ not.  “If...it makes you feel any better, I think the arrangement pleased him in a strange, round about way.”  

“What, that we were all under the same covers if not at the same time,” Obi-wan said flatly.  Paused. “Oh Force, that’s probably exactly what he was thinking. Padme stop  _ laughing _ .” 

“I can’t help it, your face,” she gasped, mirthful.    

Obi-wan buried aforementioned face into his hands.  “Why is our husband so  _ weird _ ,” he moaned.  

Padme grinned.  “Do you remember the time we all went out to eat and he frazzled the server by insisting on serving the food to us himself.”  

“And the way his face lit up when we just ended up dismissing the poor boy and ended up all serving each other,” Obi-wan added wistfully.  

She giggled.  “He does have a weakness for being taken care of.”  

“Doted on,” Obi-wan said with resignation.  “Like a lothcat. Or how about the time he was ordered on medical rest and ended up making a nest of blankets in the Resolute’s common area.”  

“He  _ did not _ tell me about this.”  

“Oh, it was a thing of beauty by the end of the day,” Obi-wan conceded.  “Five mattresses, sixteen pillows, and ten napping troopers and a padawan later Kix ordered it disbanded.  Something about Anakin doing debriefs and resting only on a technicality.” 

“Oh gods.  That poor man.”  

Obi-wan looked over at her in askance.  “Who, Anakin or Kix?” 

“Yes,” she said firmly, bringing them both into another fit of slightly hysterical laughter.    

“What about the time you surprised him with Alderaanian foam cakes and he thought it was soap?”  

“Better than that time you took him out for Mon Calamari cuisine and he ended up being allergic!”  

“Oh Force, I’d almost forgotten about that one.”  

The mood in the room was tangibly lighter now - a safe haven, worries and strategy and the body politic all forgotten outside of this moment.  Tomorrow, there would be the Senate, the war, and the secrecy that dodged their heels, love and devotion tucked deeply away behind what duty required of them.  

For now though, in this place of safety, the two of them leaned into each other and reminisced, the memory of their absent third filling the space between them as the object of their mutual affections.  


	4. Into Our Arms Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Obi-wan and Padme are immortals who have fallen in love with Anakin's reincarnations over many different lifetimes. Modern AU, trans Anakin.

“You two are like an old married couple,” the young man in front of them laughs, and Obi-wan’s heart breaks with a little crack inside his chest.     
  
“We’ve been together for a very long time,” he manages, and Padme nods, sways, leans heavily into his side for support.  “We–” want you, have been looking for you, oh gods how we’ve missed you we never thought– “have had some shared experiences, in the past.  Common goals and passions that bind us together.”    
  
“Common interests, yeah, that’s important,” this young, unbroken version of Anakin concedes, a small smile gracing the corner of his mouth.  “I don’t suppose you two have any interest in chalk art?” he says hopefully. Testing the waters, cautious hunch of his shoulders belying his carefree attitude.     
  
He gestures behind him to the small swarm of children occupying the park sidewalk, hands already dusty and colorful.  “It’s art day for the kids and I’m sure they’d love an audience.”    
  
There’s a light in his eye that’s irresistible, and he and Padme have always been moths drawn to the flame.  “We’d love to,” she murmurs at his side, and Obi-wan lets himself be pulled forward by the current of fate once again.     
  
***   
  
The crowd roaring as the sand was stained red, red, red with slave blood, her husband’s scream as the distant figure fell and she couldn’t move, couldn’t think, they’d promised they would come for him they’d promised they’d promised–   
  
“Padme?”  She blinks.  Anakin is crouched next to her, hands still where they’d been sweeping up the colored craft sand from the low plastic play table.  Around here children are yelling. Sand bottle art day, she remembers distantly, and releases a deep breath.    
  
It’s past.  It’s in the past, and Anakin is here.     
  
“I’m sorry, I was lost in thought.”     
  
Anakin makes a noncommittal sound, finishes cleaning up the sand, and Padme tries not to flinch as he grimaces at the bright red grains sticking to his palm.  “I hate sand,” he says. “It’s–”    
  
“Coarse and rough and irritating and gets everywhere, doesn’t it?” she finishes.  A bright head of hair on the beach, making absurd faces and complaining as their longboat got stuck again.  A small smile comes more naturally to her than it would have a moment before.    
  
He stares at her.  “Uh, yeah.” He barks out a laugh.  “Seems we’re in agreement on that one.”     
  
“You have a wonderful smile,” she blurts out, then flushes, because this Anakin has only known them for two weeks and is young, so young where she feels so very old.  Anakin doesn’t leave her wallowing in her mortification for very long though, simply smiling shyly and carefully, oh so carefully taking her hand.    
  
“Thank you, I mean, you too,” he says bashfully.  He clears his throat, continues. “And hey, it might not be my place but-” he stutters to a stop, visibly gathering his nerve.  “If either you, or Obi-wan, ever need to talk, I mean. Not that you don’t have each other, of course, and I’m not done with my clinicals yet, not professional in any sense of the term but-”     
  
He forces himself to stop fidgeting, exhales.  “If you ever need someone to listen, I’d be more than happy to lend an ear.”     
  
Oh Anakin.  “You don’t need to do that.”     
  
He looks down with a stubborn expression.  “But I want to. We don’t get a lot of veterans at the center, but the ones that do–”  He shrugs. “You and Obi-wan have obviously been through a lot. There’s nothing wrong with asking for help.”     
  
He freezes as Padme leans down and brushes a kiss to his forehead, nothing more than a press of lips.  “Thank you Ani,” she says quietly.    
  
***   
  
When he and Padme offer to pay for Anakin’s top surgery he’s understandably wary at first, eyeing them with mingled suspicion and an innocent, foolish spark hope.     
  
“And what’s in it for you?” he asks.     
  
“Your happiness,” he answers honestly.     
  
“Technically it’s the fund paying,” Padme deflects more tactfully.     
  
Granted, it was the non-profit fund they’d set up when he’d been posing as his current alias’s own grandfather but.  Details.    
  
***   
  
They’re careful.  Anakin is living flesh and bright warmth and every breath of air his lungs take is a miracle made of glass.     
  
“Padme,” he cries desperate, and distantly she’s aware of his hands holding her, cradling her head away from the rough asphalt.     
  
“Anakin, are you alright?” she gasps, and the boy sobs, hunches over her until his hair hangs like a curtain around her eyes.     
  
“How can you even ask that?” he almost snarls, then catches himself, inhales, shudders.  “Padme please, just hold on, the ambulance will be here soon, just, please-” he chokes out.     
  
Something warm drips down her scalp but it’s unimportant, distracting, as she reaches up to cup Anakin’s cheek.  He hadn’t answered her and she can feel a spike of anxiety shoot through her chest.    
  
“Are you alright?” she asks again, like an echo chamber, a phonograph caught on repeat.  “Anakin, Anakin, are you alright?”    
  
A dirty mop of hair peeking through the ruins, dead before they’d even arrived.  He’d been only a child, couldn’t have been more than nine, and above them the bombs kept screaming and screaming–   
  
The hand that takes hers trembles.  “I’m alright, Padme. I’m alright, please, just save your energy.”     
  
Good.  She lets her eyes flutter close, long life dulling her own survival instinct to a disinterested buzz.     
  
Anakin was safe, and all was well with the world.     
  
***   
  
“Sometimes it feels like I was born knowing you two,” Anakin sighs, and Obi-wan pulls him more tightly into the circle of their arms.     
  
Their third isn’t ready to let the topic go though.  “Have you ever met someone like that? Where you meet them and it’s like-” He wrestles an arm out so he can snap for dramatic effect and Padme snorts from his other side.  “-click, everything seems to fall into place.”    
  
“I haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re talking about,” Obi-wan says flatly.     
  
Anakin makes a disbelieving little sound.  “Soulmates, I’m telling you. We’re soulmates.”     
  
“Soulmates” -and yes he was using what Anakin called his ‘audible air quotations’- “is such a trite, overwrought term.”     
  
Instead of replying with something reasonable Anakin just gives a quiet, happy sigh, emanating contentment.     
  
“I love you two,” he says without preamble.     
  
Across centuries, lifetimes, and the words always came so easily to Anakin, even in cultures and eras where such verbalized affections could have resulted in censure, beatings, death.     
  
And every single time, it never fails to take his breath away.     
  
“You are our very heart,” Obi-wan simply murmurs in reply, and if he can feel Padme tremble where she’s pressed against his arm on Anakin’s other side, well.    
  
Time and love have made fools of them both. 


	5. Unorthodox Advances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The three of them manage to get some time off at the same time and end up staying at the lake house on Naboo. Anakin and Padme get increasingly ridiculous in their attempts to jointly woo Obi-wan.

“So how do you like the tea, Master Kenobi?”  

“Simply Obi-wan, if you please Senator,” he said absently as he peered down into the finely glazed cup, a product of local Gungan artistry.  He was so preoccupied he almost missed the tiny smile that flitted across his companion’s face. Almost. 

“Then you must simply call me Padme as well, Obi-wan.” His name rolled off her tongue like she was testing it, seeing how it tasted in her mouth.  Obi-wan shifted in his seat. 

“It’s…good.  Very good. I haven’t had tea like this since…” he wracked his brain.  

“Since that mission to Lanteeb a year ago.  You loved that muddy brown stuff, I remember.”  Obi-wan gave a sigh as he turned to give Anakin a few choice words (muddy brown, his ass) and promptly forgot how to breathe.  

“Obi-wan?” That green-blue hemline  _ swished _ .  

“Anakin,” he returned, somewhat strangled.  Don’t say anything Kenobi. “You look–” Shut UP traitor mouth shut UP shut UP.  

“Anakin, you look lovely,” Padme said warmly, and the young man’s face lit up. 

“Really?  I do?” He turned to Obi-wan as if for confirmation and what was he even supposed to say.  

“Quite,” he managed to choke out.  Anakin beamed. 

“Padme lent it to me.”  He gave what on anybody else would a little  _ half twirl _ , and the foamy house robe flared around his legs mesmerizingly.  Out of the corner of his eye Obi-wan could see Padme covering her mouth as her shoulders shook with suppressed laughter and immediately decided he didn’t want to know.  Of course he didn’t. Nope, whatever was happening here was absolutely none of his business. 

Anakin was still talking.  “–and when I told her about it she was able to find the exact leaf stock you’d liked so much.  Isn’t Padme so resourceful?” There was an odd glint in his eye Obi-wan didn’t know what to make of.  “She’s the one who arranged the parameters of that Corellian piracy ceasefire as well, put a halt to infighting in the entire sector.”  

He half remembered…”A ceasefire is putting it mildly”  Government corruption through several branches, a history of under the table permissiveness that must have been a nightmare to untangle. “Eighteen legal loopholes strung through each other is a more apt description.  Senator– Padme, you did that?” 

She tilted her head in modest acknowledgment.  “It was a group effort by the peace committee. I just happened to be leading it.”  

Anakin made a dismissive sound.  “Don’t let her fool you, Padme’s amazing.”  He leaned down until his arm was resting on Obi-wan’s shoulder, his lips by his ear.  Obi-wan felt an involuntary shiver run down his back. “Padme’s mind is a durasteel trap.  She’s  _ very _ competent, master.”  

“Anakin,” Padme interrupted, exasperated.  

“What?  I’m just telling the truth!  I’m sure Padme would want to talk to you more about it at length, Obi-wan.”  

The two exchanged a look, Padme’s eyebrows raised high while Anakin just grinned.  

“Anakin, I’m sure there’s some more clothes that might fit you, perhaps Obi-wan could help you out?”  

“Oh, but Padme, didn’t you want to show him that art collection your family keeps here?  You know how Master Kenobi appreciates the finer things in life.” 

“Excuse me,” Obi-wan said flatly, because  _ what was happening _ .  

“If you’ll excuse us, Obi-wan.”  Padme smiled sweetly, then linked her arm through the elbow of her considerably taller companion and bodily dragged him out of the room.  Their furiously whispered conversation faded down the hall. 

Obi-wan took a moment to process the last few minutes.  

“Are they hitting…on each other… for me?” he asked the empty room.  Thought about his statement, amended it. “Are they hitting on me for  _ each other _ ?”  

The room had no answers and Obi-wan buried his hands in his hair, contemplating the now cool cup of extravagant, tasteful, and apparently specifically imported tea.  

This was going to be a very  _ interesting _ leave. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I have a lot of one-shots floating around on tumblr that I've never actually collected and posted anywhere else, so I'm putting them here so people don't need to crawl through our tags to find them. All original posts are still up on obianidalasuggestion.tumblr.com. Let me know if I've forgotten to tag/post anything! Cheers, Mod Rainy


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